


you know that's my love (bursting loud from inside)

by ladybonehollows



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Comfort Sex, Eliot does a good job of looking after his boys, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-16 13:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20830133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladybonehollows/pseuds/ladybonehollows
Summary: Arielle leaves in the middle of the night. Eliot is the one who finds her goodbye letter, who has to pick up the pieces.A mosaic timeline fic, with the interpretation that Arielle's absence was a choice to leave.





	you know that's my love (bursting loud from inside)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic originated from the idea that instead of dying, Arielle chose to leave, in the mosaic montage that we saw. I'm fairly confident that Gigi and Riz were instigators in that conversation (and some following headcanons are thanks to Gigi), but if I'm forgetting anyone who was a part of it then I'm sorry, I suck.
> 
> Thanks to RAO for the constant encouragement, and thanks in particular to Gigi for supporting me every step of the way.

Squeezing his eyes shut against the light streaming in through the cracks in the shutters, Eliot nuzzled in closer to the warmth that pressed up along the front of his body. Quentin squirmed a little in his sleep, and Eliot blinked his eyes open to see him turning his face into the pillow. Lifting his arm from where it was slung over Quentin’s waist, he brushed his hair back from his shoulder so he could rest his face against his bare skin, smooth and soothing.

He should get up soon… he _was_ going to get up soon, but quiet moments like this were precious, and he wanted to bask in it for a few minutes more. The mattress on Quentin’s other side was empty and cool when he reached across it searchingly, which meant that Arielle had either been up for a while or hadn’t come to bed at all. The night was warm enough that she would have been comfortable outside if she’d fallen asleep on the outdoor bed, and he wouldn’t blame her after the late hour that they’d tumbled into bed.

It had been a fun night, though. Quentin had drank probably a little too much, and Eliot had laughed until he couldn’t breathe as he’d pulled Arielle onto the mosaic to dance with him, stumbling over his own feet but grinning so broadly that it made Eliot’s heart ache.

He never could have imagined being so completely and utterly in love with his life here when they’d stepped through the clock in the Physical Kids Cottage eight years ago. He’d always thought that a simple life like this would have driven him crazy. There were certainly days that he thought so, but they were nothing compared to the light in Quentin’s eyes when he looked at him, the warmth in Arielle’s smile, the sound of Teddy’s laughter.

There were so many things calling him home, and almost all of those things were named Margo. Every day, _this _felt a little more like home. He’d get back to her one day, but in the meantime, he was going to enjoy the things that he was given. 

Including a naked Quentin in his bed. Pressing his lips against his neck, he breathed him in, taking in a moment more of sleep-warm Quentin against him before he forced himself to pull away, smiling when he let out a wordless noise of protest. Tucking the covers in tight around him, he headed out into the main room of the cottage, intending to make himself useful by getting breakfast ready. Quentin would need something substantial when he woke up.

Arielle wasn’t draped over the couch inside, and a peek through the window told him that she wasn’t on the bed outside either. Maybe she was in Teddy’s room, or around the corner in the garden. He didn’t think anything of it as he stoked the embers in the fireplace to life, threw on a handful of kindling, and filled the kettle from the water barrel.

Setting the kettle above the fire to boil, Eliot headed toward the kitchen to see if they had any bacon left in the coldbox. A folded piece of paper on the table made him pause. Quentin’s name was written on the off-white page in Arielle’s neat handwriting.

Eliot picked up the piece of paper idly, his mind already jumping ahead under the presumption that Arielle had gone on their planned trip to the village without them. To be fair, he wouldn’t begrudge her the alone time if she craved it, but they _had_ already told Teddy about it, and he wasn’t looking forward to explaining to him that he couldn’t go. Unless she’d taken him with him.

If they had the cottage to themselves for the day, then he wasn’t going to let Quentin stay asleep for much longer. Smiling at the thought of a few hours alone with Quentin, he unfolded the paper.

_Quentin,_

_I know you’re going to be angry, and you’re going to be hurt. But in the end, I had to stay true to myself. And my truth is that I can’t stay here anymore and not grow to resent you for it. More than anything, I’m sorry for Teddy —_

_No._

Icy fingers closed around Eliot’s heart. He was at Teddy’s bedroom door before he could think about moving, the doorknob twisting sharply under his hand.

It wasn't until he saw Teddy's head peeking out from underneath his blanket that Eliot realised he hadn't been breathing. His chest was tight, so tight, and it took him a few long seconds to suck air into his lungs. Even then, it didn't stop his vision from blurring. He was — shit, when had he started shaking? That forced breath turned into a sob of relief, and he pressed his fist against his mouth to muffle it as he closed the door behind him and slumped back against it.

He had never felt a fear so intense in his life.

He should… Teddy was asleep and he should leave him alone, but when he pushed off from the door he walked towards his bed instead, his feet moving like they were weighed down by lead. His pulse was still pounding in his ears when he curled up behind Teddy. His tiny body was floppy and loose as he pulled him into his arms, making a quiet groan of protest as he nuzzled into Eliot's chest.

Teddy was here, he was real. He was here. Arielle hadn't taken his son away from him.

Ducking his head, he breathed in the smell of him, just to reassure himself. It would be okay, as long as Teddy was here, and safe. Right?

_What the fuck is going on, Ari?_

The note was crumpled in his hand, caught between his fist and Teddy's shoulder. Keeping Teddy close with his other arm wrapped around him, he smoothed the paper against the mattress and held it close enough to read, squinting at the small letters in the dim light.

It was addressed to Quentin. He shouldn't read it. But he had to know.

_Quentin,_

_I know you’re going to be angry, and you’re going to be hurt. But in the end, I had to stay true to myself. And my truth is that I can’t stay here anymore and not grow to resent you for it. More than anything, I’m sorry for Teddy, that he's too young to understand why I'm gone. Leaving him is the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life, but I'm not worried about him. He has so much love from you and Eliot, and I know you'll raise him to be brave and strong and true. I’ve written to my family, and I’ll have Rem from the village pass the letter along to them. They’ll be there for Teddy, and for you and Eliot, for anything you need. I promise._

_This was never the life that I thought I would have. Or rather, I always dreamed of more, but never thought that I could have it for my own. You and Eliot have lived such big lives, and even now, while you’ve settled into something calm and peaceful and homely, it’s still a journey for you. I want something like that for myself. I have to find something like that for myself._

_I’d ask you to be excited for me. At some point I hope you will be. You and Eliot have everything you need in each other. That makes this a little easier, which is a selfish thing, but I’m glad that you’ll have him by your side. I love you. I love Teddy so, so much. I hope that I’ll see all of you again someday, and that you won’t hate me._

_Arielle_

Dropping the letter onto the bed, Eliot let his eyes fall closed and pulled Teddy closer.

He’d thought that she was happy. That they were all happy. Ever since Quentin had started mooning over her, he’d found himself drawn to her too, and he’d been surprised by the strength of the friendship that the two of them had found. Almost as strong as the love that she and Quentin had found for each other.

The last thing that he wanted was for her to be stuck in a life that she didn’t want, but he never would have imagined that that her chasing her happiness would pull her away from their family. This was going to destroy Quentin. And Teddy…

He curled tighter around his son and tried to ignore the burning feeling in his throat. Because _how_ could she leave Teddy without saying goodbye? How could she leave Quentin? How could she leave —

But this wasn’t about him. This couldn’t be about him.

Teddy stirred against him, making a tired little sound. Eliot loosened his grip, worried that he’d held him too tightly. A small little hand came up to rub at his face, and Eliot’s heart broke all over again when he blinked open tired eyes and then squeezed them shut again immediately against the light peeking through the shutters.

He couldn’t tell him. It wasn’t even a matter of being afraid — he had to talk to Quentin first, but even the _thought_ of telling him that his mother had left tightened his chest in panic.

Bending his head, he pressed a kiss to Teddy’s hair, pushing everything outside of this moment down small. “Morning, sunshine,” he said, and hated how easy it was to force cheerfulness into his voice. It still sounded fake to his ears.

He managed to get in a few more minutes of sleepy child cuddles that were only halfway marred by the knowledge held tight in his chest, but before long Teddy was squirming against him to get up. Getting up was one step closer to facing reality, but Eliot made himself do it anyway. He took his time helping him get dressed before they headed into the main room.

Abandoning his plans for breakfast porridge for the bitter coffee-like drink that they’d managed to acquire, he cut a few slices of bread from yesterday’s loaf and made Teddy a sandwich with plum jam. He forced himself to eat a little as well, no matter that the spread tasted like ash on his tongue.

He made a coffee for himself, leaving the kettle over the fire for Quentin as he grabbed one of the toy boxes and took Teddy outside. It was a warm day, and he set Teddy up on the grass by the mosaic, twisting his fingers through the tut for the sunscreen spell before he let Teddy start digging through his toy box.

He retreated to the daybed to watch Teddy and drink his coffee, trying to find the courage to go and wake Quentin. The longer he left it, the worse it became, but he couldn’t make his feet move. His fear at thinking that Arielle had taken Teddy was still a low thrum through his body that wasn’t dispelled even from the sight of him just a few yards away, but there was more to it than that.

He was a goddamn coward.

_How dare you put this on me?_

But she hadn’t, had she? If he hadn’t read the letter addressed to Quentin…

He was finally pulling his courage together when he heard the sound of the cottage door opening. Quentin stood in the door, rubbing his eyes just like Teddy had. He looked around the clearing, smiling when his eyes landed on Teddy. Quentin’s bare feet were a whisper across the grass as he approached him, squinting against the sun. “Good morning,” he said, bending down to kiss the top of his head and steal his mug in the process. Eliot let it go willingly. “Where’s Ari?”

His dread was going to swallow him whole. Quentin’s free hand had settled on his shoulder, and he felt like a traitor as he took that moment of comfort. He looked up at Quentin’s tired, easy smile and prepared himself to take it all away. “Quentin. Arielle left.”

The corner of Quentin’s mouth quirked up a little, his brows drawing together. “Left? I thought we were walking to the village together? Did she say she’s going to meet us there?”

_Oh, Q_. “No. Q, she…” He met Quentin’s eyes gravely, willing him to understand. “Arielle _left._”

The letter had been burning a hole in the pocket of his trousers. He pulled out the crumpled sheet of paper, folded again with Quentin’s name on the front, and was surprised that his hand wasn’t shaking as he held it out. Quentin stared at it uncomprehendingly. “What… Eliot, what…”

Something like panic flickered over his face before it disappeared, his expression turning blank. With a hand clenching around his heart, Eliot stood and reached out for him, dropping his arm when Quentin took a hasty step back. He shook his head, his eyes widening. “No, she —” Quentin looked around the clearing frantically, like he expected her to be just out of sight, and froze when his eyes landed on Teddy. His brows drew up high, his lips parting. “Eliot…”

He sounded so uncertain. Eliot closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around him, half expecting him to fight him or fall apart or both. Instead, he just continued to stand there, his head turned to watch Teddy. Eliot felt a hand on his lower back in a semblance of a returned embrace. He pressed his lips against Quentin’s temple, ready to be whatever he needed from him. “I’m sorry.”

Quentin was still, so still. Eliot could barely feel his chest move as he breathed. Slowly, he started to shake his head. “I have to go get her,” he said distractedly. “I have to —”

“Quentin, she —”

“— bring her back. She can’t just…” Quentin’s other hand fluttered against his side before working its way between them, fisting at his shirt above his chest. “Jesus fucking Christ, El, she can’t just _leave_,” he said, his voice shaking as it pitched higher and sent a knife through Eliot’s heart. His whole body started to tremble, and Eliot tightened his arms around him. “What the _fuck_, she can’t — _Teddy_, she can’t — how could she —”

“I know. Q —”

“Me too! Daddy, Papa, me too!”

Quentin’s whole body jerked back at the sound of Teddy’s voice, but Eliot’s arms around him were firm, and he kept an arm firmly around him as they both looked down to where Teddy was reaching up toward them. “Morning, kiddo,” Quentin said, his voice breaking as he bent down to pick Teddy up. Eliot’s arm dropped uselessly to his side, his fingers itching to reach out again. Quentin cleared his throat. “Are you playing with your dinosaurs?”

“I’m making the rawr-rawr hunt the lions. But they’re gonna be friends soon,” Teddy told him proudly.

The rawr-rawr. Arielle had been the one who’d encouraged them to have wooden toys made with the dinosaurs from their stories to go along with the ones they could easily find at the market. Quentin’s lower lip trembled before he forced his mouth into a thin smile. “That sounds like a lot of fun.”

“Yep. Play with me,” Teddy said, squirming in Quentin’s arms as though he could pull him back toward his toys without having his feet on the ground. There was also the fact that he was like, three feet tall. “Daddy! Please please please.”

“Soon,” Quentin said. Pulling Teddy’s head down against his shoulder, he closed his eyes, his face twisting. Eliot hovered a few steps away, his mind jumping back and forth between what he thought he needed. Quentin was clearly trying so badly not to fall apart, and he didn’t know what to do to help. “Soon, Teddy. Papa and I just have to talk first.”

Teddy pouted for a moment before his face brightened. “Where’s Mama?” he asked. “Mama can play.”

Quentin’s whole body flinched, and he made a sound like he’d been punched in the gut. Eliot jumped forward immediately, pulling Teddy out of his arms and setting him on his hip. “Mama’s not here right now,” he said as lightly as he could, and saw Quentin cover his face as he turned away. “We’re not going to do the puzzle today so we’ll come play with you soon, but we need a couple minutes first, okay?” Teddy made a show of looking put out at having to wait, but eventually nodded. “Do you want to keep playing dinosaurs or maybe do some drawings?”

With Teddy in his arms, he went inside to get paper and chalk, every moment’s delay in being there for Quentin setting him further on edge, but he had to make sure that Teddy was okay. When he came back outside, he stopped short at the sight of Quentin crouching a few paces from where they’d left him, his back to them. His shoulders were shaking.

Heart in his throat, he lowered Teddy onto the grass beside the mosaic and spread a few sheets of paper out for him. As soon as he was settled on his belly with a stick of chalk in hand, Eliot hurried over to Quentin, his worry a lead ball in his gut.

Quentin’s arms were wrapped around his legs, his body hunched as he pressed his forehead against his knees. Moving slowly, Eliot knelt in front of him. Quentin let out a tight, broken sound when he touched his temple, threading his fingers lightly back through his hair. “Q,” he whispered, wrapping both of his hands around Quentin’s upper arms and pulling him upright enough that he could pull him into his arms.

He gathered Quentin close when he collapsed against his chest, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as he started shaking. Quentin shook his head, choking back a sob. “I have to go after her. Or… or if…” He broke off with a whimper, his shaking hands fisting in Eliot’s shirt. “If she doesn’t w-want me, then — you could, you could bring her back, bring her back for Teddy, you could —”

“I’m not going after her,” Eliot said, getting a hand to Quentin’s cheek, wet with tears. He stroked his thumb over it, kissing his hair and then turning his head so that his cheek pressed against the Quentin’s hair. “Neither are you. Q, you have to read her letter.”

Tightening his hands in his shirt, Quentin shook his head against his shoulder. “I can’t. El, I can’t. I don’t understand...”

“Maybe because you haven’t read the letter. Come on,” he murmured against his temple. “Come sit with me, okay?” Quentin didn’t fight against him when he pulled him to his feet, but he didn’t make it easy on him either, only moving when Eliot pulled him along. The letter was still sitting on the bed where he’d dropped it earlier, and he pushed it aside carefully as he lowered himself onto the bed. Stretching one leg out sideways, he tugged on Quentin until he sat between his legs on the edge of the bed.

Picking the letter up again, he let it rest between his fingers and Quentin’s thigh as he wrapped his other arm around his waist. He didn’t want to push him, but he knew that Quentin had to read it, had to know.

Quentin covered his hand with his own for a few seconds before pulling the letter out from underneath it. He stared at the curve of ink that formed his name on the front, his lips parting in unformed words. “El,” he whispered eventually.

“I’m here.” Sliding his other arm around him as well, Eliot shifted closer, as close as he could. He pressed a lingering kiss, hopefully reassuring, to the side of Quentin’s head before setting his chin on his shoulder. “Whenever you’re ready. I’m here.”

He stared at the letter for a few minutes before he unfolded it. Smoothing his thumb up and down Quentin’s side, he waited as he read the letter, as he started shaking again, as his breathing started to hitch with every breath. After a minute or so the letter fell to the ground as Quentin covered his face with his hands, every sob a squeeze around Eliot’s heart.

There were no words for this. Eliot tightened his arms around him, holding him together as best as he could. Both of Quentin’s hands gripped onto the arm that crossed his chest, and he turned into him, burying his face against Eliot’s shoulder as he reckoned with the idea that his wife was gone. Hurt and sadness and anger warred inside him, that _anyone_ would make Quentin feel like this, that they would have to find a way to tell Teddy. That he was so angry with someone he cared so much for. That he was going to bottle that up, for his family.

Pressing his cheek against the top of Quentin’s head, he blinked away his own tears.

Eventually Quentin’s sobs turned to slow, wet breaths before they calmed too, but the still silence didn’t feel much better. Eliot stayed wrapped around him, rubbing his back, stroking his fingers through his hair. He realised that Quentin was watching Teddy, and turned to look at their son. Teddy was humming to himself as he drew, half on the paper Eliot had given him and half directly on the tiles. He was fairly sure that just because he could see the beauty of all life in his son’s scribbled artwork, it didn’t mean that the universe did.

“I don’t know how she could leave him,” Quentin said eventually, his voice thin. Sniffing, he straightened up a little, rubbing at his face with the heel of his palm.

Eliot loosened his grip enough to give Quentin room if he needed it, and was grateful when he sank back against him after a few seconds. “I know.”

“How are we supposed to tell him?”

Now for that, he had no clue. He pressed his lips to Quentin’s temple. “I’m so sorry, Q.”

Silently, Quentin’s hand found one of Eliot’s and squeezed it firmly. _We’ll get through this_, he wanted to say, but he held the useless words back and squeezed Quentin’s hand back instead.

* * *

Somehow, they got through the day. Eliot rescued the letter from the grass but Quentin was the one to tuck it into his pocket. Eliot didn’t say anything as he watched his hand return to touch it again and again through the material of his pants, his face pinching every time. They stretched out on the grass and drew with Teddy for a while, played hide and seek, sat down for lunch together.

It was early afternoon by the time that Teddy remembered that they had planned to go to the village today.

The meltdown that followed when they told him that they weren’t going anymore was _exactly_ the type of fun that they needed. Quentin dealt with it calmly and quietly until he couldn’t anymore, and Eliot was expecting more of a fight when he suggested that he let Eliot handle it and lie down for a while, but he just nodded, whispered _thank you_, and disappeared into the cottage.

He was distracted with concern, but he managed to cajole Teddy into playing with his toys on the grass again with him with the promise that he’ll buy him some new ones when they did make it into the village, and they had to think about what type of animals that Teddy might like. His eyelids were already drooping when they started, and it wasn’t long before he started to fall asleep on the grass, which did not surprise Eliot in the slightest.

Nor did the fight that he got when he tried to take him inside for a nap, or the fact that Teddy was sound asleep five minutes after he put him down. Eliot watched him for a few minutes, sitting on the floor by his bed, making sure that he was going to stay asleep.

And also maybe trying to gather the courage to go and check on Quentin.

He wasn’t sure whether giving some space or being there for him was the right thing to do. Quentin’s hurt was a separate and different thing to Eliot’s, and he didn’t want to intrude on that, didn’t want to force his attention onto him if he just needed to sit and process for a while.

More than that, he didn’t want Quentin to feel alone.

He gave it a few minutes more before he left Teddy to sleep and sought out Quentin instead. Opening their bedroom door, he found Quentin curled up on the bed, staring sightlessly ahead at the wall. He blinked up at Eliot as he closed the door behind him, his mouth twisting in a half-hearted acknowledgement of his presence. Walking around to the other side of the bed, Eliot pulled off his shoes and climbed up behind him, wrapping himself around Quentin as completely as he could.

Quentin’s hand encircled one of Eliot’s forearms, tracing over it idly with his fingertips for a few seconds. Eliot was content to just lie there and be whatever Quentin needed from him, so when he started to squirm he pulled back. Making a quiet sound of protest, Quentin rolled over until he was facing him, grabbed his arms and pulled them around him and — _yeah, okay_, Eliot thought softly, as Quentin burrowed himself deep into his arms, pressing his face flat against his chest.

His breaths were long and slow and he couldn’t feel his shirt growing wet, so Quentin didn’t seem to be crying. Hoping that he was providing at least a little bit of calm, Eliot stroked up and down his back, threaded his fingers through his hair, closed his eyes and pressed his mouth to the top of his head. He looked for words but couldn’t find any that didn’t sound fake or dismissive.

He wanted to tell him that he loved him, but this wasn’t about him. Instead, he lay there and held him, and hoped that it was enough.

He didn’t know how much time passed before Quentin leaned back, surprising him with a small smile. He kept his eyes down, his eyes focused on Eliot’s chest, but even from what he could see, there was no light in them. “Can you believe it,” Quentin said eventually, “that I spent all these years thinking that I was too much. And it turns out that I wasn’t enough.”

The resignation in Quentin’s voice took his breath away. “Q,” he said, cupping Quentin’s cheek, but his eyelids slid closed when he tried to tilt his head back so he would look at him. “That’s not what happened. Quentin…” _You’re enough for me_, he thought with his whole heart, and then, _fuck it_. “You’re enough for me,” he said, his voice cracking despite how firmly he tried to speak. “You’re everything to Teddy.” Tracing his fingers along Quentin’s hairline, he tucked his hair behind his ear, letting his fingers scratch lightly against his scalp for a moment before bringing his hand back to stroke his thumb over his cheek. “We’ve had enough big adventures to last us a lifetime or forty. This is another adventure for us too — the mosaic, Teddy, you and me. The best kind of adventure. Arielle wanted something different for her life.”

It was the most generous take. It was how Arielle saw it, and maybe he’d be able to believe it with his heart as well as his mind someday. He knew that that time would be a long way off for Quentin. The last thing he felt like doing right now was defending her, but he wasn’t going to let Quentin blame himself for someone else’s wanderlust heart.

Quentin opened his eyes but kept them low, and Eliot didn’t want to push him. His hand came up to wrap around Eliot’s wrist. Parting his lips, Quentin took a deep breath and then paused, the corners of his mouth turning down. “Different than me,” he said quietly.

“No. Q, no.” Quentin’s eyes squeezed shut again and he turned his face away, but his fingers tightening around Eliot’s wrist kept his hand against his cheek. Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead against Quentin’s and gave into one of the thoughts that had been pulling at him since he’d first read Arielle’s letter. “Maybe… maybe different than sharing you with me.” He’d thought that they’d all been happy with the blending of their lives and hearts, but Arielle’s words had been repeating in his head since he’d read them. _You and Eliot have everything you need in each other._ “I could — I could go after her afterall,” he said, the words tasting like ash on his tongue. “See if she’d come back if I gave the two of you some space, if —” Quentin’s hand had tightened painfully around his wrist. “Q?”

Quentin’s breath hitched loudly, followed by a sob and no, no, no, he was crying again. _What did I say?_ Quentin shook his head, dropping Eliot’s wrist to grab at his shirt instead and pulling him closer. Eliot wrapped his arms around him again, holding him tightly as he trembled. “Don’t you dare,” he gasped against his shoulder, and Eliot was ashamed of the overwhelming relief that flooded through him. “Please El, I can’t — I can’t —”

“Okay, okay. I’m not going anywhere.” He pressed his mouth against Quentin’s temple, smoothing his hand up and down his back until he slowly started to relax again. He would have done it. If it meant making Quentin happy, then he would have tried.

Arielle might need more than this life, but for Eliot, this was the only thing that mattered.

“El,” Quentin murmured, his voice thick. His arm wound back around Eliot’s waist, holding them together.

Eliot nosed Quentin’s head sideways enough that he could kiss his cheek. “I’m right here.”

* * *

They made it through the rest of the day, and Quentin was so drained that he didn’t argue when Eliot bullied him into bed not long after they put Teddy down for the night. Eliot lay awake, staring at the ceiling with Quentin curled up against his chest, thinking about how different his life had felt before he’d gotten out of bed that morning.

Not a single part of him had expected Arielle to have returned when he woke up the next morning, but he noted the slump in Quentin’s shoulders when he realised that, with Teddy waking up without his mother there for the second day in a row, they had to tell him something.

He hadn’t been entirely joking when he suggested that they tell him that she’d gone to stay at her family’s farm for a few days, but he’d known before he’d seen Quentin’s grimace that it was the coward’s way out, and only delaying the inevitable. The thought of his reaction made him feel sick, but not as much as the idea of lying to him about this.

Quentin’s parents had separated when he was a child, and Quentin had told him that he’d withdrawn when they’d told him that his mother was moving out. He didn’t want Teddy to turn in on himself, wanted him to know that he could talk it through with either of them as much as he needed to.

He did go quiet, to start with, wrapping his arms around his knees like he was holding himself in as he looked between Eliot and Quentin with the exact same look on his face that Quentin got when his brain was moving too fast to put words to his thoughts yet. Then — the way his lower lip had trembled, so uncertain, before he’d started to cry, question after question bursting out of him, _why did she go without me_, and _doesn’t she love us anymore_, and _what did I do wrong_. Each word was another knife in Eliot’s heart, but none more so that when, wrapped up in Quentin’s arms, he looked between them with his face red and tear-streaked and asked them, “Are you going to leave too?”

It was a while before Teddy calmed down, but there was no rushing this. They took the day off from the mosaic again so they could both give Teddy their full attention, both for him and for themselves. When Teddy said that he wanted to draw again, they set up out in the sunlight. Teddy was quiet, but responded easily enough when Eliot or Quentin spoke to him, and if none of them could find much to be excited about, then Eliot wasn’t going to hold it against them today.

Quentin had found a knack to the structured art of the mosaic but had never been great with more freeform drawings, and his efforts today were even more lackluster than usual. For a while, they managed to scrounge up a bit of joy in Teddy by getting him to tell Quentin what to draw and how to draw it, but before he’d finished his very poor attempt at Teddy’s imagining of Whitespire castle, he’d gone quiet again and announced that he wanted to do his own drawing.

Eliot smiled when he’d seen Teddy’s half finished picture of him and his two dads, but the smile faded when he watched a stick figure of Arielle form on the paper beside them. Looking up, he found Quentin staring at it with an ashen expression. He glanced up at Eliot and then away almost immediately, swallowing hard.

Reaching over Teddy, he squeezed Quentin’s shoulder. It was tense underneath his hand, just like the short, sharp nod of acknowledgement that he got in return, the firm line of Quentin’s mouth.

Straightening up on his knees, Teddy dropped the chalk on the mosaic beside him. “All done, buddy?” Quentin said quietly, and Eliot ruffled his hair as he pulled back from Quentin to have another look.

“Mhm,” he said, picking up the picture and turning to show Quentin. “I want to keep it safe ‘til Mama comes home.”

Quentin made a choked sound in the back of his throat, and Eliot was quick to place his hand on Teddy’s shoulder, grabbing the picture to draw his attention to him instead. “I think that’s a great idea,” Eliot said, and felt an instant pang of regret at the pleased look on Teddy’s face. Quentin made another sound as he pushed off from the ground, and Eliot caught a glimpse of a scowl before he turned away. “You really captured, ah, how long Papa’s arms are,” he said, raising his eyebrows at his arms in the picture, held up above his head and almost as long as his body. It was easier than looking at the smile that took up Arielle’s whole face.

If Arielle had been unhappy, at least she’d never let Teddy see it.

They hadn’t seen it either, though, so that wasn’t saying much.

Running his hand over Teddy’s back, Eliot glanced over at Quentin, who was walking in circles not far from them. “Hey… give Daddy and Papa a sec,” he said distractedly, planting a quick kiss to the top of his head before he followed after Quentin.

Quentin turned around just before he reached him. His shoulders were hunched, his mouth pressed into a hard line, and okay, here was the anger. Quentin looked at him for a few seconds before turning toward Teddy, and his scowl only deepened. “How the fuck can she just leave him?” he asked, raising his hands helplessly as he turned back to him. He kept his voice quiet enough that Teddy wouldn’t overhear, but the desperation in it struck Eliot through to the core.

What was he supposed to say? Quentin wasn’t wrong. “I know,” he said, reaching out for him.

Quentin flinched away before his hand could land on his shoulder, his whole body twisting awkwardly as he backed away. “Don’t, just — don’t coddle me, okay?” he snapped.

Dropping his hand, Eliot forced the grimace off his face before Quentin could see it. He couldn’t find more than a flash of irritation, and even that quickly faded under the instant guilt on his face. “El…”

“Daddy, I made yours better!”

Quentin’s face fell, and Eliot glanced over his shoulder at Teddy, running over to them with a piece of paper held in one hand. He stepped quickly in front of Quentin, leaning down to scoop Teddy up with an arm around his waist. “Let’s go pack up your picture first, and we’ll show this picture to Daddy afterward.” Adjusting his grip to Teddy’s sides, he held him down so he could pick up the drawing that he wanted to save for Arielle. He glanced over his shoulder at Quentin, who was watching them with his hand covering half his face. “Take a minute, okay?” he mouthed, giving him a faint reassuring smile before they went inside.

There was a wooden chest tucked away in the corner of the cottage where they locked away their most valuable items, including their belongings from Earth. He didn’t know what Quentin would think about him putting it in there, but Teddy knew that’s where the important things went, and if he was honest, he was just too distracted to think of a better option.

Taking the key from the top of the bookshelf where it was safely out of Teddy’s reach, he opened the chest and waited while Teddy placed the picture inside with obvious care. He looked up at him as he straightened up again, and Eliot found a smile for him. “Perfect.”

The searching look on Teddy’s face didn’t ease under his praise, or after Eliot had closed and locked the chest. “Papa,” he said, grabbing Eliot’s pant leg in one tiny hand. “Is Daddy sad?”

Did all kids have that unnerving air of seeing too much, or just his? His throat suddenly tight, Eliot lowered himself down onto the floor beside the chest, leaning back against the wall and letting Teddy wrap his hand around two of his fingers. He took a moment to consider his answer. He didn’t want to add to Teddy’s own hurt by telling him that his father was hurt too, but he _definitely_ didn’t want him to think that he ever had to hide his feelings when he was upset.

“Kinda, yeah,” he said eventually. “He’s sad about your mama. He’s going to miss her a lot.” Tugging at the bottom of Teddy’s shirt to straighten it a little, he smiled at him gently. “It’s a nice thought to keep the drawing for her, but I don’t think she’s going to come back, sweetheart.”

Teddy’s face dropped into a frown so similar to the one that Quentin had worn before that it was uncanny. His eyes dropped to their hands, still linked. “But maybe she will,” he said quietly.

“Maybe,” Eliot allowed. “I hope so, but I don’t think she will.”

Without looking up at him, Teddy crawled into his lap, and Eliot wrapped an arm around him, his small weight leaning against him more of a balm than anything else could have been. “I miss her,” Teddy said quietly, the tiny little admission buried against Eliot’s chest.

Did he think he wasn’t allowed to? “Me too,” he said, threading his fingers through Teddy’s hair. And he meant it, it was true, but there was an anger boiling higher and higher inside of him that Arielle leaving was causing so much pain in the people he loved.

_I hope it’s worth it,_ he thought bitterly, tilting his head back against the wall. _I hope you find your adventure and live your best fucking life and think about what you left behind every goddamn fucking minute. I hope it haunts you every day._

He never could have imagined wishing ill on her. He never could have imagined her leaving like this, in the middle of the night with a fucking _letter_ to say goodbye to Quentin. Nothing for Teddy. Nothing for him. Had she thought it would be too hard to say it to their faces? _Because this isn’t hard_ at all.

Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath and forced himself to relax. Teddy didn’t need to see his anger. Quentin needed him to keep it together. And he was going to, because that’s what you _did_ when your family was hurting, instead of walking out on them without a backwards glance —

_Deep breaths. Calm. Figure it out._

Eliot heard the shuffle of footsteps against the old floorboards and looked up to Quentin just a few steps away. The corner of his mouth lifted in a half-hearted grimace, and he hesitated a moment more when Eliot waved him over before walking over to sink down against the wall beside him. Eliot frowned at the space that he put between them. Resisting the urge to shift over until he was pressed up against his side, he reached across and put his hand on Quentin’s knee.

Something inside him eased when Quentin put his hand over his and twined their fingers together. Sighing, Quentin leaned in toward him, putting his head on Eliot’s shoulder and his hand on Teddy’s. “Did we put the picture away safe?” he asked.

There were so many other places where the three of them could sit together, but not a single part of Eliot wanted to move. Teddy lifted his head from his chest and turned to Quentin, his eyes a bittersweet blend of wary and hopeful. “Yeah. Just in case.”

“That’s good,” Quentin said, and Teddy’s smile broadened. “Can I see what you did to our drawing of Whitespire?”

“Yes!” Teddy squirmed out of Eliot’s arms and ran for the door without a backwards glance. Sighing, Quentin leaned a little further into him, turning his head so that his forehead pressed to his shoulder, squirreling into him a little and it was just the warmth that he needed to settle him back into the steadiness that Quentin needed.

“I’m sorry,” Quentin murmured, his voice muffled against Eliot’s arm.

They’d certainly lashed out at each other for less than that before, and he didn’t want him to let this be another thing that ate away at him today. “It’s okay,” he said, pressing his mouth to Quentin’s hair.

Quentin let out a huff, pulling back and looking up at him with eyebrows raised. “None of this is okay,” he said incredulously. His mouth twisted into that sad smile that broke his heart every time. “Why aren’t you angry?”

The bitter laugh escaped him before he could hold it back. “You think I’m not angry with her?” Quentin’s grimaced. Sighing, he pulled Quentin’s hand into his lap and squeezed it. “I’m trying _very_ hard right now not to think about how long he’s going to carry this hope inside him that she’s going to walk back through the door tomorrow or the next day or Christmas, or — or his _birthday_... “ He pressed his mouth into a firm line, inhaling sharply through his nose. Quentin had dropped his eyes down to their clasped hands, swallowed hard as he pulled them up to kiss Eliot’s knuckles.

Eliot reached across with his other hand to cup Quentin’s cheek, pulling him close until their foreheads were touching. “We’re going to be okay. But I don’t know how to tell Teddy that without it getting into his head that either of us might leave too.”

Quentin’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t want him to grow up without her.”

“I know. Me either.” He pulled back when he saw Teddy race back into the room, waving the piece of paper in his hand. “But he’s always going to have us.”

* * *

The next day, they went back to the mosaic, the responsible-adult-parent parts of their brains telling them that they had to keep a routine or whatever. They barely got half a puzzle finished through the whole day, because Teddy’s was feeling needy and they weren’t going to leave him wanting, not even a little.

Besides, they were both feeling needy, too.

If Quentin started crying silently every now and then while he worked, Eliot didn’t comment on it aside from a touch to his hand, his shoulder, his back, as regularly as he could.

They went to bed early again, more as an excuse to lie down together than because of any particular desire for sleep. Quentin was quiet and Eliot jumped back and forth between not wanting to push him, and not wanting to let him dwell on whatever was happening on a loop inside his head. Quentin was lying with his head on Eliot’s stomach, staring up at the ceiling as he let Eliot thread his fingers again and again through his long hair.

Eliot was lying with his head propped up with his pillow stacked on Quentin’s, so he saw the downward twitch of Quentin’s mouth a few minutes before he found any words to go along with it. Quentin’s hand reached blindly across the bed until Eliot supplied his, and watched fondly as he started playing with his fingers, pulling and twisting them gently in every direction in a semblance of tuts.

He snorted lightly when Quentin forced his fingers in an approximation of the lube spell. Quentin glanced up at him with a smile, and he tugged at his hair lightly in response. “Watch it, you,” he warned without even a little bit of heat.

Quentin hummed and returned to toying with his hand, wrapping his fingers around it and pressing his thumb up along his palm like a massage. “Do you…” He drifted off for a few seconds, squeezing lightly along the base of each finger. “Do you think we would have gotten together if we hadn’t been here?”

His tone was light and casual, but the question was so much heavier than it might have been a few days ago. Eliot considered his question more seriously than he would have before, and the answer he found twisted his stomach into knots.

“I hope so,” he said honestly, forcing himself not to hide from the twinges of fear that the idea pulled from him. “I think…” Taking a deep breath, he made the conscious decision not to hide from his truth. “I think that I would have taken you to bed again in a second, but I would have been terrified of something real with you. Because that’s all we could ever have, Q. The most real, honest thing I’ve ever known, and that’s fucking terrifying.” There was a lump in his throat that he couldn’t swallow down. “But yeah. I really hope so.”

Quentin nodded slowly, chewing his lower lip between his teeth. There was a little furrow between his brow that didn’t ease when Eliot smoothed his thumb over it. He lowered their joined hands to rest on his chest, and Eliot spread his hand flat over his heart, feeling the steady proof that he was here, that they were together.

He was quiet again for a little while, long enough for Eliot to start to regret the extent of his honesty. Following his gaze to the ceiling, Eliot traced the patterns of the wood grain with his eyes, the same patterns he saw every night. There was not a single part of him that would have gone back to that old life how it was, not with the knowledge he had now of what it felt like to embrace this happiness. What it felt like to make Quentin happy. And _Teddy_. Yes, he might have been happy to live in a constant state of longing and believing that he wasn’t worth all of these things, but now, he wouldn’t trade them for anything.

He felt Quentin’s chest rise and fall in a deep breath. When he spoke, his voice was small. “If you wanted… more. Than — than this. I would understand. You could —”

Alarmed, Eliot looked down quickly at Quentin, his breath catching in his throat at the tears that were streaming freely down his cheeks. Grabbing Quentin’s shoulders to pull him up, Eliot sat up as well and turned to face him. Instead of staring at the ceiling, he was now looking sullenly down at the bedspread beneath them. Eliot cupped his cheek, horrified at where his head was taking him. “Q —”

“You could go and — and see more of Fillory,” Quentin said, still not looking up at him. “Find a way home, maybe, if you wanted. Margo… imagine how good it’ll be to see Margo again. This isn’t what you signed up for, me or this puzzle or Teddy or —”

“Quentin —”

“I just — I — I just need…” Quentin’s voice broke and he squeezed his eyes shut, turning his head as he started to tremble. “I can’t do this again, so if you… if you… if you need to leave, I —” He was breathing too fast, the words getting trapped in his throat every few seconds. “I’ll —”

His heart felt like it was being torn into a dozen pieces, and every one of them was crying out for Quentin. Getting his knees underneath him, he brought his other hand to Quentin’s face and turned it up toward him, not letting him turn away. “Quentin,” he said, his voice thick. Quentin blinked a few times before he reluctantly raised his eyes to meet his. His mouth was turned down into a grimace, his brows drawn together as his eyes flickered between his like he was — _shit_, like he was trying to fucking _memorise _him.

“I don’t need to leave,” he said, speaking deliberately to make sure Quentin heard the feeling in every word. “I don’t _want_ to leave.” Tilting his head, he stroked his thumb over his cheek, fighting to keep it together but the way Quentin’s face started to crumple cut straight through him. “Darling, I’m not going anywhere.”

Quentin’s whole body started to curl in on itself, but Eliot caught his hands before he could cover his face, sliding his arms around his back and gathering him close. Quentin’s pressed his face against Eliot’s chest, clutching at his shirt, at his waist, and Eliot felt every shudder than ran through him. “Q. I’ve got you, okay? I’m here.”

“I love you,” he said, his voice so weak and broken that he could barely hear it. “Eliot…”

Eliot kissed the top of Quentin’s head to stop his lip from trembling, and then pulled him up so that he could feel the soft skin of his forehead under his mouth. “I love you,” he murmured, his fingers gentle on the back of Quentin’s head as he held it still, his lips gentle as he pressed them to his temple, between his brow, his eyelids, his cheek. “I love you,” he said, and again, and again, kissing every inch of his face until all he could taste was the salt of Quentin’s tears. “I love you,” he said, and when he pressed his mouth, _soft soft soft_ against Quentin’s, he leaned in close to steal Eliot’s breath away.

His arms tightening around Eliot’s shoulders, Quentin kissed him again, and Eliot dropped a hand back on the mattress to hold them upright as Quentin crawled into his lap. One of his hands curled around the back of his neck as he deepened the kiss, leaning into him with an obvious intent to push him back down onto the bed.

Eliot’s constant want for Quentin warred against his knowledge that _this is not a good idea, _which was tempered by his bone-deep need to give Quentin anything he needed to feel better. But if he was doing this from any idea that he _had_ to in order to keep Eliot there with him… Pulling back a little, Eliot turned to press his mouth against Quentin’s jaw. “We don’t have to, Q, not if you don’t want —”

“Please,” Quentin whimpered, and oh god he was shaking again, holding him so tightly that it felt like he was trying to crawl right inside him. “Please, I just — I need to feel something good, I need —” He kissed him again, pressing his hips down on Eliot’s in a way that made his breath hitch and _that’s cheating, Quentin god damn it. _Eliot’s hand dropped down to cup his ass, his intention purely to help support his weight, but he seemed to take it as encouragement instead, canting his hips over him again. “Eliot, I need you. Just — please.”

It shouldn’t have been so easy to push down the voice that continued to tell him that this was a bad idea, but he was helpless in the face of Quentin’s need. Letting himself fall back on the bed, he pulled Quentin down with him and then rolled them so that Quentin was trapped beneath him. Quentin’s body arched up into his, pushing up on his shoulders to kiss him, but Eliot ducked his head to press his mouth against his neck instead. There was so much tension and desperation in the way he tried to move against him, but Eliot wanted him to really feel it, to know that he was there, that he wasn’t ever going anywhere. He let Quentin feel the weight of him from their chests down to where he was nestled between his legs. “I’m here, okay, sweetheart? Let me take care of you.”

Setting his weight on one forearm beside Quentin’s head, he pulled back enough to look at him, tracing his hair back from his face with his other hand. Quentin’s eyes were red when he blinked up at him, and he looked so, so tired. Cupping his face, he bent down to kiss him slowly and deliberately, keeping it light until he felt Quentin start to relax a little beneath him.

He let the kiss deepen gradually as he got his hands underneath Quentin’s shirt, flattening his palms along his sides and smoothing them up his skin until he had to pull away in order to tug it over his head. Quentin’s hands dropped to the ties on his pants as soon as his arms were free, and although that went against the _let me love you slow and steady_ vibe that he was going for, Eliot didn’t protest, especially when Quentin pulled him back in for a kiss that was soft and tender rather than panicky.

Shedding his own clothes and letting them fall in a pile on the floor by the bed, Eliot lowered himself on top of Quentin once more. His legs parted for him automatically, and he slotted in between them, tracing patterns along the outside of Quentin’s thigh as he kissed him. They were still both mostly soft but like usual, the feeling of Quentin’s naked body moving against his was enough to send a rush of desire through him, and he could feel Quentin starting to harden underneath him.

Distracting Quentin through sex usually involved a prolonged process of working him up again and again with his head between his legs, teasing his cock and his ass and the skin in between until there was no room in his mind for anything other than the sensations that Eliot was pulling out of him. This wasn’t like those times. He wanted Quentin to stay present with him, with _all _of him, and not just the sexual pleasure that he could make him feel.

Quentin whined a little when he pulled back to kneel above him, the noise catching in his throat when Eliot brushed his knuckles along the line of his cock. “I’m going to use the lube spell, but I want to open you up all on my own, okay?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, and then, “wanna feel you.” Eliot’s hands faltered on the lube spell, but he swallowed down the rush of protectiveness that surged through him at the trust in Quentin’s eyes. He managed to get it right on the second try, letting the clear, slick fluid drip from his fingertips onto Quentin’s cock. Quentin sighed quietly when Eliot wrapped his hand around it, stroking until he was fully hard. “El,” he gasped, grabbing at his arm.

Eliot let himself be pulled back down on top of him, lining himself up so that he slid against Quentin’s wet cock as he slotted their mouths together. Quentin moaned against his lips, and again when Eliot took advantage to deepen the kiss, licking into his mouth and swallowing every sound he made. Quentin’s hands fluttered over his shoulders, down over his sides before settling on his hips to hold on as Eliot rocked down against him, the tight pinch of his fingertips in his flesh grounding him through the pleasure of the slick glide of Quentin’s cock against his.

Turning Quentin just enough to get his hand between him and the mattress, he slipped his fingers between his asscheeks and brushed the tip of his middle finger lightly around his opening. Quentin pressed down against it automatically, and he drew his hand back enough to summon more lube to his fingers.

He touched him with a little more pressure this time, massaging at his asshole without trying to slip inside. Quentin’s mouth had gone slack against his, and he pulled back enough to drink in the dazed look in his eyes as he pushed back down against his fingers and then up against his body. “Look at you,” Eliot whispered, pressing just a little harder and then lightening his touch before Quentin could press down on him. “You’re so beautiful, Quentin, so perfect in the way you let me love you.”

Quentin’s eyes closed, his mouth twitching in that almost smile that he made whenever he didn’t know how to deal with Eliot’s praise. It was a small victory, even if it was immediately followed by a tear spilling from the corner of his eye down to his hairline. Eliot kissed him again, _focus on me, how I’m right here with you, how I want to spend every single one of my days making you feel good._ Eliot kissed him until he was gasping and rutting up against him, and only then did he press the tip of his finger into him.

He let Quentin work himself down onto his finger, rocking his hips to take him deeper and move against Eliot at the same time, and _oh_, he was so desperate to be touched and to be loved and Eliot wanted to give him everything. “I love you,” he told him as he pressed in as far as he could. It wasn’t the best angle to reach deep, but he _could_ pull him up against him, rolling his hips down on Quentin’s at the same time. Quentin cried out, dropping his head against Eliot’s shoulder to muffle the sound. “Quentin,” he breathed. “Q, I love you."

“Eliot,” he groaned, his hips stuttering up against him.

Humming, he nosed Quentin’s head to the side so that he could kiss his way down his neck. Quentin whined when he pulled his hand away, arching his whole body up into his, and then gasped when Eliot forced his hand between them to cup his balls in his hand. He pushed Quentin’s legs further apart with a touch to the inside of his thigh, and then reached further to work his fingers inside him again.

Quentin was writhing on the bed by the time he had three fingers curling inside him to rub against his prostate. One of his arms was wrapped tightly around his shoulders, the fingers of the other twisted into his hair. His mouth pressed against Eliot's neck, his thigh between Eliot's legs driving him to distraction as he tried to focus his attention on Quentin. He could feel Quentin's precum on his stomach. "El," he gasped. "I — El, I —"

He would never get tired of the way Quentin’s voice pitched when he begged him to fuck him. He wasn’t going to draw it out today, to keep working at him until he told him exactly what his body craved that Eliot do to him, no matter how much they both enjoyed it. Quentin’s body cried out to him and he answered immediately, listening to his instinctive need to give him anything he could ever ask for.

Pulling his fingers out one last time, he put both of his hands on Quentin's thighs, pulling them around him as he lined himself up. He lingered for a moment with his cockhead pressing against Quentin's stretched hole. Dropping down onto his elbows above Quentin, he cupped his face with his free hand, stroking his thumb across his cheek. Quentin looked up at him, his eyes filled with yearning as he threaded his fingers through his hair once more, and Eliot leaned down to kiss him long and slow as he pushed into him.

Eliot met Quentin's groan with his own, momentarily overwhelmed with the glorious heat of Quentin wrapped all around him as he rocked himself deeper and deeper until he was buried into him as deeply as was possible, and then grinded his hips against his for good measure. Quentin pressed his mouth firmly against his to cover the sound of his cry before hiding his face against his neck instead, and Eliot felt the vibrations of his moan all through him.

He shifted again, moving without pulling back, getting Quentin used to the stretch of him inside him, and felt him tremble around him. "You feel so good," Eliot murmured as he pulled back a little just to sink right back in again. Quentin let out a helpless little sound that wasn't quite a moan. "You're so good to me, Q."

He felt Quentin's fingers digging into his back, pulling him closer. "Please," he said, his voice thick. "El — _oh."_ His legs tightened against Eliot's hips as he started to properly move in him, thrusting into him slowly and deeply, wanting Quentin to feel every inch of him. Quentin’s hips moved up against him, clearly trying to make him increase the pace, but Eliot was determined to give him this — _I’m here, I’m not going to rush through loving you, I’m here._

It took him longer than it should have to realise that the shudder going through Quentin's chest every few seconds was different than the way his legs and his stomach were trembling with every thrust. Stilling, he tried to lean back, but was stopped when Quentin’s arms tightened around him, holding him in close against him. “Quentin,” he murmured, finding Quentin’s arm and tugging on it lightly so he could pull back enough to look at him.

His eyes were squeezed shut but they opened to the touch of Eliot’s hand on his face. He was crying again, his face flushed and twisted, but when his eyes met Eliot’s he let out a gasping sob like he couldn’t hold it back anymore.

_Oh no, no_. Feeling his insides start to twist into knots, Eliot tried to pull back but Quentin held him firm. “No,” Quentin gasped, his nails digging into his skin. “No, El, please. I…” He broke off with a whimper, his eyes darting all over his face. “_Eliot_.”

“Hey,” he said, smoothing his thumb over Quentin’s cheek. Quentin tensed around him, and Eliot bit down hard on his lower lip to distract himself from the completely inappropriate pleasure that ran through him. “Q —”

“Please don’t leave me. I —” He grabbed Eliot’s hand, pulling it away from his face so he could cover it with his other. His fingers twisted painfully around his, but the desperate look in his eyes hurt more than any physical pain ever could. “I can’t… El, I can’t, I need — I need you, I need you, I can’t do this without you, _please don’t go_…”

“Quentin,” he breathed, pulling Quentin’s hand away from his face with his other hand, bending down to press his mouth hard against his. “Q, sweetheart, Quentin,” he murmured against his lips. “I’m not going anywhere.” Quentin sobbed again, and he pulled him close, working his arms underneath him to wrap them around him as tightly as he could. “I’ll always be here. I know you, and I love you, darling, Quentin. I’m here.”

“El,” he whimpered, and Eliot was _weak_, he was so totally thoroughly _gone, _because when Quentin tugged him back down to kiss him he didn’t pull back, kissing him instead with every ounce of feeling that he could put behind it. The sound that Quentin made into his mouth was equal parts sob and moan but thoroughly desperate, and Eliot wasn’t going to deny him a single thing. When Quentin rolled his hips up against him, he thrust forward into the tight heat of him automatically, moaning as much for the sound of pure desire that Quentin made as for the pleasure itself. “Don’t stop,” Quentin begged, and —

— and he _should_, though, he should step back and make sure Quentin was okay, except he absolutely wasn’t okay, and saying no to him right now was too much for Eliot’s bruised heart to handle. He pulled out just enough to thrust back in, and Quentin buried his face against his neck again, _“please, please, El,” _murmured into his skin, and how could he do anything other than what Quentin told him he needed?

Pressing his whole body down against him, Eliot quickly found a rhythm and an angle that hit just the right spot. He wasn’t expecting him to be on the edge so quickly, but he wasn’t so far behind when Quentin started to drive his hips up against his, making desperate little noises every time Eliot thrust into him. Snaking his hand between them, he wrapped it around Quentin’s cock and started stroking him. “I’ve got you, Q,” he said against his lips, picking up his pace as he chased after his own orgasm. “Come for me, darling, I —”

He cut off as Quentin started to tremble, tightening around him in a way that took Eliot’s breath away. Pressing in deep, Eliot grinded down on him as he continued to stroke his straining cock, feeling it jerk in his grip until it started to spill onto his hand and over their stomachs. Quentin’s hand was tight on the back of his head as he buried his broken moans into his neck, his whole body arching up into his.

As the tension eased out of Quentin, his arms stayed tightly around Eliot, one drifting down his spine to rest in the curve of his lower back. His chest moved with heavy breaths, but when his mouth against Eliot’s neck softened into tenderness, it was too much for him. “I’ve got you, too,” Quentin said, his voice quiet but so, so sure, and Eliot was overcome with the emotion that flooded through him, far more intense than his rapidly building orgasm.

“Q,” he gasped, as he thrust into him once, twice more, muffling his groan against Quentin’s sweat-slick skin as he shuddered through his release. And Quentin was with him all the while, stroking over his skin with a reverent touch, so effortlessly giving him everything that he’d tried so hard to give Quentin.

His heart was still pounding in his ears when he slipped out. He didn’t want to be parted from Quentin any more than he had to, so when he rolled onto his back he pulled Quentin right along with him, arranging him until he was settled against his side. Quentin slipped into place like it was second nature. He supposed it was, and fought back a tired smile at the thought. The weight of Quentin’s head on his shoulder and hand on his chest, one leg hitched over his, was so wonderfully familiar that it was easy to forget the outside world, to just live in this moment forever.

But the outside world was never far away, and he was ready for the stiffening of Quentin’s shoulders barely a minute after they settled. He wasn’t expecting Quentin to wriggle further into him, like there was no such thing as close enough. “Hey,” he murmured, kissing the top of Quentin’s head.

“Hey,” Quentin echoed. He sounded distracted, and Eliot looked down to follow the patterns that Quentin was tracing idly through his chest hair. He wasn’t crying anymore, but the furrow in his brow hadn’t gone away. Eliot would have given anything to make that disquiet disappear.

Smoothing his hand up Quentin’s back, he squeezed the back of his neck lightly before threading his fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. Quentin relaxed a little, but that haunted look hadn’t eased when he lifted his head to meet Eliot’s eye. “I’m... “ He took a deep breath, visibly gathering himself before offering him a tremulous smile, his eyes shining. “Thank you,” he said, his voice pitching high at the end as though it were a question. “For — for being strong. For being… everything.”

His heart in his throat, Eliot brought both of his hands up to cup Quentin’s face, pulling him up gently until he was in kissable distance. He traced his fingers over Quentin’s cheeks when he pulled back, tracing the curve of his lower lip with his thumb just to see the self-conscious delight twitch at his lips. They both felt so raw, but seeing that barest flicker of happiness gave him hope.

“Quentin,” he said, smiling at him softly. “You’re the strongest person I know. We’re going to be okay. Teddy’s going to be okay. Because we have you.”

Letting his breath out with a shudder, Quentin closed his eyes, turning his cheek into Eliot’s palm. “Eliot. I love you.”

He stroked his thumb over his skin. “I love you, Quentin. More easily, more _steadily_, than I ever could have imagined loving anybody. I’m not going anywhere. I’m never going to stop fighting for our family.” Quentin’s inhaled sharply, his face screwing up, and Eliot leaned in quickly to press his lips against his temple. “I’m never going to stop showing you how much I love you.”

* * *

_That’s not me, that’s definitely not you, not when we have a choice._

The words had been on a loop in Eliot’s mind for the last six weeks, growing louder and louder until he was drowning in it. His every waking moment had been haunted by those words, the one moment of his life that he’d hoped to never have to face again.

Today, though, the thundering echo of those words were being drowned out by something that felt like _I’m never going to stop showing you how much I love you_, and _I’m never going to stop fighting for our family_, and _I love you, darling._

Something that felt like hope.

“Are you ready?”

Every part of him was vibrating with urgency. Tearing his eyes away from the gateway to the Underworld that had been conjured in front of them, he met Margo’s eyes, then Julia’s, before turning to Alice. She met his gaze with determination, with the same fire that had reignited in his veins with _maybe_, and _what if_, and _we have to try._ He held out his hand, and hers was firm and sure when it slipped into his. “I’m ready.”

_I’m coming for you, Q_, he thought, and stepped through the gateway.


End file.
